


Recollections

by BiolabBlasphemy



Category: Devilman (Anime & Manga)
Genre: (its devilman tho so gore is kinda expected), Blood and Gore, First Aid, Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Stitches, Surgery, Underage Drinking, improper surgery techniques, manga/ova characterizations
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 14:52:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17102663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BiolabBlasphemy/pseuds/BiolabBlasphemy
Summary: The extent at which everyone was wrapped up in what Professor Asuka had started was beyond what Ryo thought it would be. Or, rather, His father's legacy had affected everybody in little ways.(These are just little scenes and bits I've cleaned up and out of my drafts. They aren't really big enough to be stand-alone fics, so I just bunched them together. Additionally, I'll be adding more to this as I finish up more.)





	1. Setting Some Sort of Boundary

**Author's Note:**

> This one isn't too strong story-wise, I just kinda wanted to explore Akira's relationship with Amon. I know it isn't actually canon, but I really like the idea of Amon being a sort of secondary entity inside of Akira's body, like Amon isn't entirely stamped out after their binding. IDK.

_**One day, when your body turns to dust, I will drag you to hell with me.** _

Akira shivers at the foreign thought, something that isn’t apart of him, like an additional organ pumping in his brain. Amon speaks without amenity and calm, his voice is brash and angry in the back of Akira’s head, and it almost boils when he growls.

“Why?” He asks, staring blankly at the ceiling of his room. There’s an emotion he’d like to conjure right now, but he just can’t feel it. The sound of Amon in itself should anger him, he shouldn’t answer it, and he surely shouldn’t entertain the idea of holding a conversation with the champion. And yet, with his body flat against his bed, hands folded over his stomach like he’d imagined what a corpse looked like in a morgue, he answered Amon’s comment.

Amon is a powerful demon, demons trick and twist people, Amon’s words cannot be trusted, he shouldn’t even allow Amon to speak. Akira wants to desperately separate himself from Amon, draw a line to determine where he stops and Amon starts. But, in the dark of his room, the line becomes blurred, contorted, easily stepped over. Akira hates it, ashamed of Amon’s control, his disturbing thoughts, carnage and desires. Amon loves it, he loves when Akira suffers, he loves to watch Akira squirm.

_**You took my one chance to take back earth.** _

“What if you failed?” Akira asked in the silent room, feeling awkward and yet at ease. Disturbed and yet calm. “Why do you want earth back so badly? You have hell.”

_**Why do you like staying on earth if you’re going to hell anyway?** _

Akira snorts, the chuckle is partially nervous, but he would laugh harder if Amon wasn’t so dangerous. The sheer idea of an ancient evil using sarcasm grows more humorous by the minute, and yet a cold sweat grew over Akira.

“Can you tell if someone is gonna go to hell?”

_**Yes** _

Amon seems intensely pleased with this. Happiness that is not his own curls up Akira’s spine. A kind of giddy glee that feels distant. Apart of Akira and not, like a pinned phantom limb.

He began to dwell on the question he asked, an edged feeling told him someone he knew could go to hell. Drug along with him into the depth, but he couldn’t put a face to the action.

The vision of icy blue eyes peaked through his vision, splitting through the murkiness of his brain and coming to the light. A wild smile, flaxseed blonde hair, and cool skin seemed to flood into Akira’s mind, merely materializing into existence. Like the subject of his thoughts was stepping into the light from the pooling dark of his mind.

Akira felt his breath catch in his throat as he tried to speak his next question.

“Is Ryo going to…?” He couldn’t finish the ending of his statement, it felt almost stuck in his mouth. For once in his life, words he slung around felt tight in his throat, coiled like a snake at the back of his mouth.

_**One who consorts with demons will find themselves living among them** _

Amon’s laugh is gravely and harsh, like claws drug along Akira’s skull. And yet, that wasn’t even the part that he feared most, it was his cryptic implications for his friend. In the pale moonlight, Akira looked at his trembling hands, turning them over and over as if looking at his veins would help the situation. At least it helped him focus on something.

Ryo hadn’t done much wrong, sure, he wasn’t a saint, but he was pure at heart. He did things in Akira’s best interest, protected him as a kid, and watched out for him. Currently, they were on a crusade to kill demons and save humanity, Ryo cared for people (at least inadvertently).

“Ryo, uh- ‘consorted’ with demons to help save humanity, it was for the best. He could probably be excused though, right?” Akira could almost physically feel a nervous chuckle manifest in his throat.

_**It doesn’t work that way.** _

Amon says this very surely, and yet to Akira, there’s a sense he’s holding something back. Akira can practically feel it burn in his brain, there’s a dishonesty in what Amon said. What did Akira expect though, perfect honesty from a demon?

He’s never fully had access to what Amon is thinking though, he can just sense his emotions faintly, they gently influence him, the rage and anger, but he can’t allow them to take hold. He’s afraid of what will happen if he does. He’s not sure if it works the same way for Amon, does he feel sadness when Akira does, does he feel happiness, glee, joy?

Does Amon hold the same memories? Does he remember when Miki taped all of Akira’s fingers after he slammed them in the door? Does he remember when Akira and Ryo used to skip PE to smoke under the bleachers? Does he remember Akira’s fear before they merged?

He doesn’t remember what Amon felt. He doesn’t have any of Amon’s memories.

“Why don’t I have access to all your memories?” Akira questions “That would have really helped with sirene.”

_**I don’t have all of your memories either. We are two separate beings in thought.** _

Akira swallowed hardly. That's where the line in drawn, where he ends and Amon starts. It’s all carefully constructed through his thoughts. Memories are what define a being, and Akira can keep his to himself. It’s his own place away from Amon, his brain’s own Eden, nestled in the firing of his neurons.


	2. Stitches

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kinda like the idea of Ryo patching Akira up after every bad demon run-in. I also wrote this in October when I was watching horror movies like constantly, so that kinda gives me an excuse for the weird blood descriptions. Anyway, if you are somewhat squeamish, or don't like any kind of gore, then you might want to skip this, but the gore in this is not anything worse than the anime/mangas. Also, Ryo's fabulous stitching technique is definitely not the way to properly suture and stabilize a wound so please don't try it IRL. (I probably don't have to tell you that).

Ryo fumbled restlessly with the needle in his hands, the dim lights glimmered off it’s cool surface and reflected onto the door he was about to knock on. He swallowed the pooling saliva and anxiety that rested in the back of his throat. Quietly he reached forward and wrapped on the door, soft on his own bruised knuckles, but hard enough for the person on the other side of it’s wooden frame to hear. 

“Akira, are you ready?” he spoke softly too, almost in a whisper. 

“Yeah... come in.” Akira sounded timid, like he was unsure of the situation. 

Wordlessly, Ryo opened the door, closed it, and began breathing in the steam of the bathroom. Akira sat in the tub, on the furthest wall from the door, slumped over with his knees puled to his chest. Hands wrapped around his knees, and feet drawn towards him to cover himself. He looked miserable, but not as miserable as the deep oozing gashes on his back that Ryo couldn’t help but stare at. The red angry flesh drew his eye to it, and the bleeding stained the water and porcelain around it a faint maroon. 

“It’s not as bad as it looks.” Akira half joked, half groaned, his head down and muffled by his arm, his dark eyes peaking up at Ryo through his wet locks. His breathing was shallow, and it exited his nose in painful grunts, almost a low growl. 

If it hurt half as bad as it looked, then Akira was in a great deal of pain. 

Ryo dug through the inner pocket on his trench coat and pulled out his flask, unscrewed the cap and swiftly took a swig to steady his hands and burn his nervousness away. He leaned over the tub and handed the flask to Akira. 

“Here, for the pain.” he explained, swishing it a little just to hear the gurgle of the liquor inside. Akira reached out a shaky hand and grasped the metal canister, but didn’t pull it towards himself. 

“What’s in this?” he asked. 

“It’s whisky.” Ryo hummed, trying to keep as calming of an environment as possible. “I’m gonna take care of the wounds on your back. Try not to move around too much.” his hand ghosted over the nape of Akira’s neck, where he wanted to place his hand comfortingly, but didn’t because he was afraid to put him in more pain than he already was in. 

Akira then quickly pulled the flask to his lips, Ryo watched as his throat bobbed with the gulps of the alcohol, crouched down by the bathtub to get a better view. 

“Don’t get yourself sick.” Ryo chided, “I don’t want you blowing chunks while I’m working on you.” Akira just nodded in response, his face screwed up in a grimace from the taste of the alcohol, and he silently handed the flask back for Ryo to set on the edge of the tub. 

“Do you have any rubbing alcohol or peroxide in here?” Ryo questioned. They needed something to disinfect Akira’s wounds, lest they become infected. 

“Isn’t soap and water enough?” Akira turned his head so his brown eyes met with Ryo’s blue, a heavy look settled on both sides, and Ryo could feel his face screw up in slight disbelief. What was he going to substitute normal disinfectants with? 

“Did you drink all of the whisky?” Ryo rubbed his hand over Akira’s hair, and nervously flipped the needle around in his other hand. 

“No.” Akira sighed a little in pain, puffing slight breaths of air out of his nose. “I wasn’t sure if you’d want some.” He smiled weakly at Ryo, who mirrored the look back to him. If it weren’t for the situation, he would’ve chuckled, leave it to Akira to spare something even when he needed it. 

“Ok, I’m going to disinfect the wounds with the whiskey, it might sting.” He explained, Akira just nodded a little. 

Gingerly, Ryo unscrewed the cap off the top of the flask and looked at Akira as if asking for permission to dump it on him. Akira just screwed his eyes shut, deeply inhaled, and visibly tensed up. He almost looked like he was curling in on himself, bracing for an impact that would never happen. Watching him made a sort of guilt lodge itself in Ryo's stomach, like he was hurting his friend on purpose. He wasn’t, but it just felt that way. 

Akira winced when he dumped the whiskey on the wounds, Ryo knew he couldn’t help it. He groaned and whined, huffing to try and stop himself from yelling in pain. 

“Fuck, why does that hurt so bad?” Akira whined, biting his fangs into his lip. 

“You better hope that whisky loosens you up soon because you’re going to have a hell of a time with the next part of this.” Ryo grimaced, before screwing the flask shut and setting it on the floor by the tub. 

“Did you find Miki’s sewing kit?” Akira turned to Ryo, his face tightened where he was trying to turn his grimace into a soft smile. 

Ryo flashed him the needle, it was hooked like a half-moon with a thick eyelette on one side. In the dull light of the bathroom, it glimmered between them, looking almost like a precious jewel in Ryo’s hands. Akira’s face fell slightly at the sight of it, a small frown started to form on his face. 

“hey, it’ll be okay. I'm just gonna sterilize it and then I’ll use it to stitch the wounds closed.” Ryo tried to muster a calm and comforting expression. In reality, he could practically feel the weight of what he was about to do settle in his stomach like a heavy stone. 

Ryo wasn’t sure if he could will himself to do this. This would put Akira in a lot of pain, and if he botched it, it could leave permanent damage on his friend. 

He exhaled, pushing out his slight fear with his struggling breaths. He tried desperately to stop his hands from shaking slightly so he could steadily hold the needle. 

He knew what needed to be done next. He flashed Akira a smile and rummaged through his coat pocket. His hand fumbled with broken cigarettes and cold shotgun shells until he found what he needed, his father’s silver lighter. Once again, he made eye contact with Akira, as if to comfort him, and showed him both the lighter and the needle in his left and right hands. Still maintaining calm eye contact, Ryo flicked open the lighter, and Akira’s eyes immediately traced the flame, his pupils narrowed to glare at the harsh light. They then glanced back up towards Ryo’s gaze, and he gave a small comforting smile. 

Ryo passed the needle through the flame slowly, watching the heat meet the cold metal to burn and scorch away impurities. He didn’t speak outwardly, but he internally hoped the heat wouldn’t warp the metal in any way and make the process more difficult. 

“Ok Akira, turn your back to me.” Ryo instructs while dropping the lighter back into the unknown that was his overcoat pocket. Akira does as told and awkwardly shimmies his body in the bathtub so his back faces Ryo. He sighed when he sat down comfortably, with both his knees tucked into his chest. 

Ryo had to face it now. The ugly gushing wounds, the edges of the cuts folding upwards slightly, the angry red color of Akira’s tanned back. The way Ryo can see the lean fats of his back and he can see the muscles underneath flex and pull with Akira’s shallow breathing like there’s an untamed beast nestled in his diaphragm. The blood felt like the worst part of the predicament, some of it crusted to Akira’s skin in an ugly earthy brown color, some of it still fresh and smeared along his back and dribbling into the cloudy bathwater. 

When he exhaled, Ryo swore he could see the flood of crimson began to worsen. 

Ryo threaded the needle with ease, his sharp eyes watched the shake of his hands as they tugged the thread through. He sighed one last time, trying to calm his nerves once again. Somehow the room still felt like it’d swallow him whole for one minute mistake. He lined the needle up with the largest gash on Akira’s back and readied himself for what he was about to do. The steam in the bathroom gave him a cold sweat he couldn’t shake no matter how much he rolled his shoulder. 

“Take a deep breath in.” Akira did as told, like he always does. “Exhale on 3...” 

“1...” Ryo quickly inserted the first anchoring stitch in and proceeded to create a second and third stitch, knotting each notch of thread where it dove into his flesh, and then quickly pulling the flesh together in both a gentle and hasty flick of his wrist. 

“2...” Akira cursed out loud and tensed up when Ryo started on his next batch of stitches. In some way, Ryo managed to block it out. He can wholly focus on the work if he can force his vision to tunnel. Akira’s whines fall into the background. 

“3.” Ryo finished off his last stitch and then pulled it tightly to seal the wound. Akira hissed and growled, arching his back away from Ryo and reached a clawed hand behind him to grasp at his own shoulder in pain. The world comes back to Ryo and suddenly he’s realized what he’s done. He’s hurt Akira, so much in a way that he could hear the strain in Akira’s throat where he tried to stop himself from screaming. Alternatively, Ryo has helped Akira, Amon can now seal his vessel's wounds properly and the stitching job is neat enough that scarring couldn’t be overly prominent. 

“What..” Akira deeply inhales and turns his head around to make eye contact with Ryo. “the fuck was that?” 

“A necessary evil.” Ryo stated blankly, he felt there and somehow not. Like his hands weren’t apart of him, he was vacant, and at the same time aware. The fear that clutched him earlier was boxed away tightly somewhere in his mind, it still rattled his hands enough to give them a slight shake, but he couldn’t exactly feel the usual arc of fear up his spine, and the cold sweat he felt earlier seemed to be distant to his skin. 

Akira nodded slowly and understandingly, but the way his chest rose and fell told Ryo he was in more pain than he would show. 

It dawned on Ryo that the best way to go about this was to do it as quickly as possible, just to make Akira’s lasting pain as quick as possible. So they repeated the process with Akira’s other wounds, and Ryo made sure to go as quickly as possible. 

When they finished, Akira gave a small smile, a small shell of his signature toothy grin, and Ryo mirrored a tired smile back. He then pulled up his coat sleeves and reached in the murky bathwater to pull out the rubber plug and then used his other hand to set the bloodied needle on the cold tile floor. 

Akira curled in on himself more as the bathwater lurched out of the tub slowly, little beads of water still clung to his skin though, and his hair was still dripping onto his neck and face. He looked rueful in a way that both picked at Ryo’s heart and warmed it. With his arms drawn tightly around his knees to keep warm, it almost let Ryo hang on to the idea that Akira was just as small as he was before Amon. 

Ryo snapped out of his thoughts when Akira shifted slightly to look back up at him, and Ryo realized he was staring at Akira in the tub. 

“I’ll get a towel for you.” He quickly averted his gaze, fully turning his head away so Akira couldn’t see the embarrassed look on Ryo’s face. He then quickly grabbed the towel from the counter of the sink beside them, spread it out in his hands, and then draped it over Akira’s shoulders. 

“Thanks.” Akira smiled up at him while pulling the towel closer to himself to keep warm. Ryo extended his hand forward to help Akira up, if he stayed chilled any longer, he’d probably catch a cold. 

“Need a hand up?” 

“Yeah.” Akira sighed and grabbed ahold of Ryo’s hand, and Ryo threw all of his weight backwards so he could pull Akira up. He pulled himself up slowly, and when he fully stood up, he pushed his hand against the wall to hold his weight, swaying slightly like the wind could push him over. 

Ryo pulled Akira’s arm over his shoulder and helped him climb over the side of the tub. As they walked out of the bathroom, still supporting Akira, Ryo took one last look over his shoulder at the bathroom. Blood was smeared on the sink and was drying into a rusty red on the counter, and the bathtub was crusted with blood and little bloody finger prints as well as littered with loose thread from the earlier mending. 

To say the lease, the bathroom looked like a murder scene, but it could be cleaned up later.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to critique or tell me if something is wrong in my writing so I can fix it and improve it! Also, you can swing by my Tumblr, @biolab-blasphemy, if you want to yell about my piss poor fic quality thru ask or message.


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